I love having a clean house. I swear I do. Unfortunately, it's only clean, on average, about 5 days of the year. The rest of the time it looks like a hurricane blew through- indistinquishable piles of clean and dirty laundry mixed up all over; dishes piled up in the sink 10 minutes after I wash them; small toys waiting to attack me in the middle of the night; dustbunnies planning a mutiny, and a bathroom sink so caked with dental hygiene products that it undoubtedly has fresher breath than I do.
I love being a mother. I swear I do. I'd just love it more if I didn't have to wake up early every morning to make sure he gets to school on time, if I didn't have to feed and bathe him and make sure he always has clean underwear. I love my son but sometimes the monotony of being a mother threatens to drive me crazy.
I love to cook. I swear I do. But it's only about once a month that I have the energy and desire to whip up something fantastic. The rest of the time pasta, take out, or cereal is fine with me. Thank god my parents live upstairs and my father loves to cook so my son has more than 3 dinner options.
Unfortunately I can't afford a housekeeper, nanny, or personal chef to make sure my home functions properly. But I have a solution!
Ready?
I need a wife!
That's right, a wife. I mean really, they're cheap labor and hardworking if you get the right one. Yeah maybe they bitch and nag from time to time but then I could just fire her and get another one. No problem!
I'd probably be better than any husband a woman could get anyways, being that I'm a woman and have a general idea of what women want. Shoot, I might even consider having another kid if I had someone else to do the dirty work of raising him and I could just cuddle and play with the thing.
In order to find my wife, I've placed an ad in my local paper. This is what it looks like:
(**Will also consider applicants from out of state if they're willing to pay for their own plane ticket.)
1.25.2007
WANTED: One Wife
1.23.2007
State of the Union
No one, not even the president, should have the right to go on TV and interrupt the regularly scheduled programming of at least 15 channels! This is America, after all, land of opportunity, choice, and freedom. This is not an example of a democracy, but instead of a monarchy. Or socialism, or communism, or Nazis, or something else bad like that.
Was there a vote about this? I would have voted to have it on a Monday night. What about choosing one channel to broadcast it on and leave the rest alone? I bet 'House' would have higher ratings than some boring 'State of the Union Address'.
And we all know that it's all about ratings.
What is this country coming to that I can't choose when or where I will ignore my president's jibberish talk?!
Someone will pay for me having to miss "House" and "Law and Order SVU" tonight.
Oh someone will pay.
1.19.2007
Stereotypical disappointments
This morning i was up early (8ish), hoping for a school delay so i could sleep late, (which seems kind of backwards right?) watching the news channels for any info on the BIG storm which produced exactly 1/8 inch of fluffy white snow.
Anyhow I started channel surfing. Since none of the local channels said anything about the Middletown public schools being closed, I was hoping maybe MTV would. It didn't and neither did VH1 but they did have music videos and one was the new Robin Thicke song- Lost without you.
Now I have quite a few Robin Thicke songs downloaded but I've never actually seen the man. So my mind's image of him was something of a hippie, semi-bad boy, but undeniably hot guy with kinda-but-not-too-greasy, shoulder length dark brown hair and sunglasses that he wears even at night, because he's so cool he can do that and really just doesn't care what anyone else thinks because he's a musician.
I liked this image. I embraced this image. I fantasized about this image (serenading me on a beach with a guitar and a cocktail), while listening to his songs on my itunes and playing Sudoku.
This is what he really looks like: 
Needless to say, the backstreet boy look-alike on my screen took a few minutes to accept and get used to. Finally the shock and tears went away. The disappointment still hasn't.
The good news is that the girl in the video was exactly what I'd expected. Hispanic/black/Indian, doesn't really matter because she was brown and just absolutely HOT and exactly the type I'd pictured my leading man going for (I don't think you have to be a lesbian to appreciate the absolute hotness of another woman).
I can only say I'm glad at least one of my stereotypical assumptions was correct.
Update: I was looking on the internet and look what I found!-- 
This proves that at one point, he did look at least somewhat like my fantasy!! Yes, the universe is harmonious once again!
1.18.2007
I Am Man, Hear Me Roar
Oh my god, I just realized that my son is a typical man. Not that it's a bad thing, honestly i think men are great. special. unique. necessary. but to find out that my son is just like the rest of them sort of stings.
The realization about my poor baby and his unfortunate fate recently hit me hard (literally) after he gave me high five filled with so much force that it caused my hand to bang into the desk, which REALLY hurt quite badly and was completely unnecessary.
All of his high fives are this powerful. If for some reason, he feels he hasn't hit hard enough he makes me high five him again until I say ouch. Only then can be be satisfied with the manly powers his little hand contains.
The sting made me remember gymnastics, (yes he takes gymnastics, he's only 5) where he and his best friend are in constant competition to see who can do everything FASTER. Not better, just faster.
Gymnastics made me remember the computer lab at his school, where all the boys in his class compete to see who can do the puzzle with the most pieces (They go to this website and do puzzles on the computer www.jigzone.com). Now in reality as kindegarteners, they probably can't complete a puzzle with more than 20 pieces but they were like:
"Grunt, grunt, I can do 100 pieces!"
"Yeah well, grunt, grunt, I can do 240 pieces!"
"Yeah well, I can do, grunt, 1 million and 80 pieces! Grunt!" (This was my son)
None of them were able to do that many pieces of course, but they sure liked to pretend they could and point out to each other all the puzzle pieces staring off their respective screens. In fact, in tune with the true nature of being man, none of them actually even attempted to complete the 1 million and 80 piece puzzles, just stood around and bragged about how they COULD do them if they wanted to.
Grunt.
(Sadly, on the other hand, the girls in the class were all insisting they couldn't do more than 6 piece puzzles which was ridiculous since they could all easily do at least 12 or 20. But the underachievement of the average girl is another issue for another time I suppose.)
Anyways, as I'm yelling at him for hitting me so hard that he left a red mark on my palm and a bruise on the back of my hand and lecturing him on how
"Harder and faster doesn't necessarily mean better buddy!!! HARDER AND FASTER DOESN'T MEAN BETTER!!!!!!",
I realize how similar this conversation is to the one I have in bed with man-friend so often.
Ah men.
1.16.2007
Bras
I'm in debt. it's true. I'll admit it. Honest to god, all american, credit card debt. The worst kind. So i'm trying to get myself out and not charge anymore and have frozen my credit cards in a block of ice and am living a self prescribed life of poverty until I fix this mess. I've even joined a 12 step group to deal with the problem.
"Hi my name's Yvonne and I spend money I haven't yet earned."
But...I went to Victoria's Secret yesterday to use up the gift certificate I had equaling exactly $27.28. Not a penny more (even though I unfroze one of my credit cards for the trip- just in case). It's not like I could use the Victoria's Secret gift card to buy food or anything really important so I decided to indulge myself and buy something special- a bottle of dream angels perfume because:
a) I've always liked it and never bought it.
b) I actually own no perfume and feel that it would be helpful on days when I find myself pulling a pair of slightly worn sweat pants out of the bottom
of my hamper, sniffing them, wrinkling my nose in disgust, and putting them on anyways, not really caring that everyone and their mama will without a doubt mistake me for a homeless wino, because truthfully sweat pants are king of pants in my world and even smelly-ol'-worn ones are preferable to jeans. Spraying some perfume however, might help some of the obvious scent issues a few days in a dirty laundry basket brings, making the world a better place for everyone.
Anyways, the perfume was $22.00 (okay it was really the body mist which isn't as good as the perfume but much cheaper) which meant i could buy it easily with my gift card and still have $5.00 left over for the teeniest bottle of hand lotion I've ever seen.
However since the semi-annual sale is going on right now and since a girl can never have enough push up bras, I decided to consider my options in that area as well. I found one which perked and lifted in all the right ways, which felt comfortable and looked good under my clothes. It was of course the identical bra that I bought 2 months ago from Victoria's Secret but this time it was on sale for not $55 but $42! And can you really have too many bras?
This left me with the obvious moral dilemna- do I buy the perfume or the bra, or both? I could afford the perfume, could almost afford the bra, but definitely could not afford both.
Which brings me to the point of my blog- why is it that we as normally rational, smart, and reasonable women are willing to shell out $50 + dollars for something that goes under our clothes, covers only about 1/20th of our bodies, and will probably only be seen by the man of the moment (if he actually pays attention while desperately peeling it off) and the women in the gym locker room?
Seriously, the most a pair of panties runs us is $5.00 and that's steep. And really, you can by a 3-pack of Hanes her Way for under $10 at Walmart.
But bras, good bras really are necessary. And this is why:
a) Bad bras hurt- they stab you with their jealous underwires and itch you with their horrible polyester lace like dirty gossip. Good bras hurt too, but usually not as quickly.
b) Not wearing a bra can be worse than wearing a bad bra. If i go too long without a bra, everything hurts. and if i sit in a certain position braless, I can feel my boobs touching my stomach (neither of which are really that big) which is truly detrimental to my self esteem
c)Bad bras don't ever seem to last as long- they rip and the underwire on one side comes out leaving you with one boob saggier than the other.
d) Expensive bras are better looking- that's too say they're less obvious under the clothing, their lines closer to invisible, the cups less wrinkled, giving you a more natural and sexy look.
So yes, it's worth paying the extra bucks for a bra. It may be the most important thing you wear. But worth more debt? I wasn't quite sure.
So after debating for a moment with the rack of C cups in front of me, I decided against the $42 push-up bra that lifted and perked in all the right ways, just got the perfume with my gift card and didn't charge anything on my credit card... because really I have quite a few good bras and definitely enough debt, but never enough clean sweat pants.
1.14.2007
A Few Good Blogs (The Abridged Version)
(If your blog isn't listed and it should be, EMAIL MEand I'll put it here.
And, just to clarify, if you read my blog, yours should be listed here.)
Frequently Asked Questions
Last time you were pulled over by a policeman, how fast were you going?
Last time I was pulled over it was because my registration was 2 years overdue. For the record, I was going 60 in a 65.
Kumquat or persnickety... which is the better word and why?
Persnickety. It just makes less sense.
If you were given a million dollars to only eat bananas for the rest of your life (assuming that just bananas would sustain you), would you do it?
Probably not. I find it very hard to believe I could enjoy a million dollars when I have just died of a potassium overdose.
Are you making money on this bloggy thing...and how?
Uh yeah, you could say that. See all those ads all over the place? Some of them pay me when you click on them. Some pay me just to be there. All in all, I’m in line to make about as much this year as this guy:
Of all your true real talents, what one would you give up in exchange for a talent that you don’t have?
I would give up my very real talent of saying completely the wrong thing at the wrong time and trade it for the ability to process simple directions. Seriously, couldn’t even tell you how to get from here to the bathroom.
How do you envision your life will be 5 years from now?
Hmmm… I’ll get back to you in about 4 ½ years.
What inspires your art?
Periods and poop.
How long have you been blogging?
I started blogging in January of 2007. My first blog was called “Oh The Cleverness of Me”. You can still read many of these posts in my archives. Then I went on a hiatus and came back with “There’s Never A Line For The Men’s Room”. Boring but true.
When you order steak, how do you like it cooked (rare, medium, etc.)?
Ground up then stuck back together before being stuffed between two buns and some cheese. Seriously, I hate steak but I love hamburgers. What can I say? I’m a cheap date. As far as cooked, I like my meat to resemble a block of charcoal.
When you take pictures what kind of camera do you use?
I use a Canon EOS 20D. It’s digital and awesome. Like this website and me.
When you make art, what materials do you use?
It depends on the piece. Most of the black and white illustrations on this site are done in pen and ink. Other mediums I use are watercolor, acrylics, oils, and every once in a while, Adobe Illustrator.
Who is your favorite Baldwin brother?
If only you knew how tough that question really is.
Why is it that men think it is ok to say congratulations to you as if you are pregnant while they stare at your "belly" which actually happens to be your car keys and gloves in the pocket of your Columbia coat because it is winter and you are freezing and now not only are you going to freeze to death but you apparently need to diet?
Because. Men. Are. Idiots.
Seriously guys, you should know better than that! Even if you see the head peeking out of her vagina, you should NOT assume a woman is pregnant.
If you were stranded on a tropical island, what kind of tree would you be and why?
Hmm, probably coconut. Not only because that’s a given for being on island but also, I could drop my nuts on people all I want and that's probably about as close to being a man as I'm ever going to get to be.
Will you marry me?
Probably not.
How do you say The Kid’s name?
Well his name is Jacquai. Some people call him Jackie. Some call him Jakwa. Other lively pronunciations I’ve heard are Jacari, Jamiricoy, and Jablahblahblah...ah I'll just call him Jake.
I realize this is my fault for giving him such a ridiculous challenging name and Jacquai honey, when you’re 23, fresh out of college and trying to get a job at a bank and you can’t because the people who are supposed to call for interviews don’t know how to say your name and therefore just don’t pick up the phone, I want you to know that I’m sorry and I love you and that’s what happens when you have a baby when you’re a teenager- you give them crazy names, so please try to remember all the times I fed you and kissed you and let you stay up late to watch movies and eat popcorn. Remember those times because those times are the true testament to how much I really do love you and NOT a silly thing like a name.
That being said, it really is a simple name, only 2 syllables and so now I will attempt to teach you how to pronounce it.
1st part- JU (like uhhhh….)
2nd part- KIY (like sky without the s)
Now let’s all say it together Ju-Kiy. Ju-Kiy. Ju-Kiy.
Just to keep things simple though, he’ll still mostly be referred to as “The Kid”.
and last but not least…
Rules For This Blog:
Thou shall be nice. I do not have to be nice. This is my blog and I am the queen around these parts so I can be as silly, mean, or rude as I want. However, everyone else is required to be kind and respectful in their comments, not only to myself but also to the other commenters. We do not have to agree but we do need to be respectful of one another. Got it? Good. You may go worship me now.
Got a question? Email me!
About This Site
Miss Awesome
This is my website. I write. I draw. I take pictures. I talk about periods and poop.
I am awesome.
There's Never A Line For The Men's Room was started in 2008 after a trip to the Ben and Jerry's ice cream factory in Vermont where I found myself standing at the end of a line of about one hundred to use the Ladies bathroom, while guys strolled past us into the Men's room, came back out thirty seconds later with a whistle and a smile, all the while the women's line refused to move so much as an inch.
In a moment of full-bladder induced clarity, I realized that there's never a line for the men's room but always one for the ladies room and spent the next hour and a half pondering this phenomenon. You'll be happy to know that eventually I got into the bathroom, was able to relieve myself, and did not explode.
Some of the theories I came up with that day are:
- Women must pee in groups, therefore at least quadrupling the amount of people in line at any given time.
- Urinals take up less room than stalls, ergo there are more places to pee per square foot in Men's bathrooms.
- Women have "pee-dar". We subconsciously send signals to all the other women wherever we are and without even realizing it, call every one of them to join us in the bathroom.
- Men can store extra urine in their penises, therefore allowing them to go longer lengths between trips to "el baño"
- Women use the restroom as a place to socialize. We talk to our friends through the stalls, fix each others makeup, make new friends, recipe-swap, build robots... I really don't know.
- Men are more efficient pee-ers. They just unzip, whip it out, put it back, zip back up and leave. Women have to pull things down, squat, converse with the woman in the neighboring stall, wipe, wash our hands, converse with the women at the sink, go back in the stall to get the purse we forgot, and so on.
I hate to say it, but in this case, men really are the superior sex.
This site started out as a blog, a place to write and draw and eventually transformed into what you see today.
If you want to send me an email to chat, make a comment or simply tell me how awesome I am, please use our contact form. If you want to complain about this site, please consider pulling that stick out of your ass first.
As always, this site is for those 18 and older only. If you have any questions about how to use this site, please view our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.
Enjoy.
~Miss Awesome
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